The pair of eyes smiled ever so slightly, a hint of amusement contorting their nonchalant persona into something more deceitful— something that could've almost been mistaken for gentle, something soverysinister. I tilted my head to the side in scepticism, but they stalked away before I could even gather my thoughts. It took a moment for me to come out of that dreamlike trance. I shoved the book back on the shelf just as I heard the chime above the door ring again.
Whoever that was, was gone just as suddenly as they'd appeared.
"Did you see anyone leave just now?" I asked the cashier almost breathlessly.
"Oui." The lady smirked, not bothering to look up from her novel.
"What were they like?" I asked softly yet ever so curiously.
"Froid." She sighed flipping a page, "Vous allez acheter quelque chose?" She asked impatiently.
"Non, merci et— bonne nuit!" I muttered slightly disoriented, dropping five euros into her tip jar, despite the terrible service and bad attitude.
I went outside and rubbed my palms together to warm myself up. I looked up at the night sky as the description of the blue-eyed angel from the bookkeeper replayed in my mind;froid.cold.
Chapter 2
Welcome To Saint Katherines
"The blue paint that never washes off"
THEFIRSTTIMEIcaught a glimpse of St Kathrine's, it reminded me of one of those fairytale castles you'd see in old Disney films; tall, grey and mighty. It had stone pathways circulating through gaps in the evergreen courtyard, stained glass windows like the kind you’d see at a church, making it difficult to see inside and there were vines creeping up the walls. I remember reading information on the school religiously and it said that this building was over 200 years old, and at that, a shiver ran down my spine. I felt like it was old enough for me to venerate it.
Many new students were arriving late at night just like me, and there was security everywhere, helping people settle in and find their rooms. I parked my car in the vast parking lot amongst a sea of far more expensive ones. Going to St Kathrine's, I knew that I would be surrounded by the children of the wealthy and privileged, but I never let it get to me because I had been blending in all my life.
Growing up, my family and I were comfortable. We never really had a lot of money, but we never worried about what we didn't have because we cherished everything we did have and thanked God for everything he'd done for us. I will not gloss over the reality of things. Part of maturing for me was realizing that being a black woman from Africa I've had to push past a lot of stereotypes placed on my head about what kind of person I was. I was constantly aware of the fact that when I walked into a room, I would be scrutinised and judged ten times harsher than my counterparts.
When I was in middle school and still new to the US, a lot of the kids would poke fun at me and pretend they couldn't understand me when I spoke English, and so I found myself sitting in front of the television all day practising my speech patterns so I could sound like everyone around me. I wove the accent out of my mouth like a thread from a needle. I crafted the perfect facade, all in the name of fitting in. How incredibly ridiculous it must sound, but I’m speaking of this so that I may be understood, not pitied— never ever pitied. I never lettheirignorance define me, when my story was already written by all the women who came before me. My dark skin is a blessing, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
I wouldn't say that I'd experienced a lot of racism growing up, and for that, I was grateful. But it's the little things that hurt sometimes. Like when the police almost always assume you're doing something wrong or when I'd accompany papa to the country club and have people look at me like I didn't belong there. It's a shame that, as a society, we tend to see the colour of each other's skin before any else.
Once I mustered up the courage to unload my luggage from the car. A man in uniform with the academy logo on it came up to me with one of those airport bag trolleys.
"Merci monsieur." I sighed, shutting the car door and locking it.
"Pas de problèmes madame." The man beamed, I read his name tag— Francois.
I checked in at the administration office, and after getting through a bit of paperwork, I was able to attain my room number and room key card. I thanked Francois once more before rolling the trolley along with me and heading toward the student dorms. The only thing I could hear was the sound of the trolley wheels dragging against the white ceramic tiles. It almost felt like I was the only one here because I couldn't hear a single voice other than my own heavy breathing.
I approached my room and knocked twice to see if my roommate was in yet, but no one answered. I slid the key card in, and the door swung open. The room was much bigger than I'd expected. There were two queen-sized beds lined up against two large Victorian-style windows, and there were two large drawing tables that flipped over to become a study desk. There was one huge bathroom with a shower, a bath, a full-length mirror and a sink. The walls were plain white and had absolutely no personality to them whatsoever.
"To new beginnings." I sighed for the second time this night and began to unpack my stuff, placing my clothes in the closet and toiletries in the bathroom before making my bed, so I felt more at home.
The school provided beddings, but Lord knows what kind of stuff happened between those sheets. I wanted to have my own sheets and my own blanket and, of course, the quilt that bibi had knitted together for me and that I'd kept from all those years ago back in Kenya. I took a much-needed shower, scrubbing my body of all the stress of travel and rinsing away all the jet lag. After my shower, I made sure to call mama and let her know that I'd arrived safely, the phone rang for what seemed like ages, but eventually, she picked up.
"Armani, nilikuwa na wasiwasi, how was your flight?"You had me worried. She spoke in Swahili.
"No need to worry mama. I'm fine, I arrived safely." I yawned tiredly.
"Tell me, what is it like in France these days, hm?
"It's beautiful, mama, everything I'd ever dreamed of," I assured her, nestled into the speaker as though it were really her.
"That's amazing. Work hard, my daughter, and make sure to call me again tomorrow."
"I will. Goodnight mama. I love you."
"And I you," she replied, hanging up the phone.
